Darkness Into Light

Darkness into Light

Carole Mortimer

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT do you think you’re doing?’

Danny looked blankly at the man who had stepped out of the night shadows, sure that above the din she was making she had heard him ask that question. And yet she couldn’t have done; it must surely be obvious what she was doing, the lawn-mower moving smoothly in front of her, the sweet smell of newly cut grass fresh in the air.

His appearance in her garden surprised her even more, his wide chest and shoulders bare, the dark hair there disappearing in a vee over the taut stomach and down beneath body-hugging black underwear, his long legs and feet bare too. She had no idea where he had come from and thought she should be the one to be asking that question. She was in her own private garden, mowing her own lawn, and this almost naked man had invaded that privacy.

She suddenly realised how very much alone she was here, her nearest neighbour up at the main house, and as she rarely saw anyone from there since Henry Sutherland had bought the house and grounds and moved in with his entourage she didn’t think she would get any help from England’s answer to Howard Hughes! Her denim cut-offs and halter-necked yellow top were little covering for her generous curves, and she sought the man’s face in the darkness, hoping to read his intent there.

What did he look like? What was he thinking? Who was he?

‘I said—–’ he repeated, raising his voice.

‘I heard what you said,’ Danny assured him as she switched off the motor to the mower, wiping her hands down her denim-clad thighs. ‘But I think you have that the wrong way around.’ She looked at him with eyes that glowed the colour of deep sherry. ‘What are you doing here?’

The man stepped forward into the light streaming from the lounge window of her cottage behind them, and Danny caught her breath at the raw savage beauty of that harshly lean face. Dark, slightly overlong hair fell forward over his forehead, his eyes a curious light colour, neither blue nor grey, but somewhere in between, his nose a harsh slash, his mouth thinned in a straight line, deep grooves etched beside his nose and mouth. He looked coldly arrogant, and somehow Danny knew he offered no threat to her, that those icy eyes could never deepen with the emotion it would take to physically attack her, that his power was all of the will rather than the body.

‘I suppose you do realise it’s after eleven o’clock at night?’

Her eyes widened at the question; it had been the last thing she had expected. She was as aware of the time as she was of what she was doing!

‘And that mower is damned noisy,’ he added hardly at her lack of response.

Her brows knit together. ‘What does that have to do with you?’

His mouth thinned. ‘It’s a still summer’s night, the sound carries.’

‘Well I—Oh dear.’ Contrition darkened the brown glow of her eyes. ‘Could it be heard at the main house?’ she asked with dread.

‘Would you care?’ He derided her lack of concern so far in the conversation.

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to disturb Howard Hughes—sorry, I meant Mr Sutherland.’ She blushed at the slip.

‘You consider him a recluse?’ The man frowned.

Danny shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t think of any other name for a man who lives behind a ten-foot wall most of the time, has a couple of guard-dogs patrolling the grounds, surrounds himself with numerous bodyguards—can you?’ She quirked mischievous brows at him a shade darker than her straight red-gold hair, now secured in a single braid to just below her shoulders.

The man’s mouth twisted. ‘When you put it that way, no. And to answer your other question, I was at the main house when I heard the mower.’

‘Oh dear.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, her expression suddenly brightening. ‘He isn’t there, is he?’ She grinned her relief. ‘I remember I heard the helicopter leave earlier.’ She had been most disgusted when part of the grounds of the main house had been taken and turned into a helicopter-pad for the new owner, the comings and goings of the machine a noisy irritant. Old Mrs Prendergast, the previous owner, would turn over in her grave if she knew what they had done to her precious manor house. ‘Where’s he gone this time?’ Danny asked interestedly.

‘You have yet to tell me what you’re doing mowing the lawn at this ungodly hour.’ The man sounded more irritated than ever.

‘I always mow the lawn when I’m upset,’ she confided. ‘I think better then, you see.’

Grey eyes snapped with impatience. ‘And couldn’t you have done this thinking at a more reasonable time?’

‘I didn’t know at a more reasonable time that I had something to think about,’ she explained. ‘I need to think now, and it never used to disturb Mrs Prendergast. Although that could have been because she was as deaf as a post,’ she added thoughtfully.

‘I see.’ The beautifully moulded lips twitched as if in humour, although no smile actually materialised. ‘Well, I’m not, and it was disturbing the swim I was taking.’

‘Swimming!’ she said with some relief. ‘You’re wearing swimming trunks!’

‘Well, of course I … What did you think I was wearing?’ he asked drily. ‘No,’ he drawled. ‘Don’t answer that.’ He looked over at the cottage. ‘Doesn’t the mower disturb your grandfather?’

‘I hope not.’ She looked surprised. ‘He’s been dead ten years!’

The man looked taken aback. ‘But I understood this was the head-gardener’s cottage.’

Danny grinned at his perplexity. ‘You understood correct.’ She nodded.

‘Then he’s your father?’

‘Nope,’ she laughed lightly. ‘I live here alone.’

‘But you can’t be Danny Martin.’ He shook his head in denial of that fact.

She frowned at his emphatic tone. ‘Why can’t I?’

‘Because I’ve seen him about the grounds,’ the man said tersely. ‘He’s about seventy years old, with grey hair, and a stooped back!’

‘Zacky Boone.’ She instantly recognised him by the description. ‘And you would have a stooped back, too, if you had been gardening as long as he has!’

‘You’re the head-gardener?’ He still didn’t look convinced.

‘Third generation,’ she assured him proudly. ‘Dad had no boys, you see, and as I was the oldest girl I was the natural choice to take over from him when he retired.’

‘I don’t see anything natural about the choice.’ His steely gaze raked over her critically. ‘Wasn’t there something else you would rather have been doing?’

‘Wasn’t there something else you would rather have been doing than watching over Henry Sutherland?’ she instantly came back. ‘It can’t take a lot of intelligence to be a bodyguard.’ She had decided as they spoke that was what he had to be, the height and breadth of him, the muscular physique seeming to imply as much. ‘You don’t look as if you’re just brawn and muscle with nothing up top,’ she observed.

‘Thank you,’ he accepted with dry sarcasm. ‘But I can assure you that the bodyguards employed here don’t have“nothing up top” either,’ he told her grimly. ‘They’re very intelligent men, with the quick senses to match.’

‘Oops.’ She grimaced at his anger. ‘I didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.’

‘You haven’t stepped on mine,’ he assured her abruptly. ‘I don’t happen to be a bodyguard.’

‘Oh?’

‘My name is Sutherland—Pierce Sutherland—–’

‘Oh God, not another one.’ She gave him an angry glare.

Grey-blue eyes clouded with puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘So you should be,’ she said crossly.

He looked more confused than ever. ‘What have I done?’

‘Nothing! But—–’

‘Thank God for that,’ he drawled mockingly.

‘But your cousin Nigel has.’ She glared at him again. ‘At least, I presume he’s your cousin.’

The assessing grey-blue eyes swept over her slender body, lingering on the fullness of her breasts before going down to her flat stomach. ‘I can’t see any evidence of it,’ he taunted.

For the first time that she could remember she blushed, she, Danielle Erica Martin, who never blushed. She had chosen to enter a profession consisting mainly of men, had been the only female in her class at college with twenty—–five men, and during that time she had become immune to personal remarks and innuendoes; she had had to or walk around with a permanent blush. But this remark, made by a complete stranger, was a little too personal to ignore.

‘I didn’t mean to me.’ She shot Pierce Sutherland a resentful glare. This was serious, damn it. ‘He’s seducing my sister Cheryl into breaking her engagement to the boy she’s been in love with since she was fifteen years old!’ she told him indignantly.

Dark brows met over grey-blue eyes. ‘Doesn’t the lady have to be willing for that?’

‘Not when she’s faced with a charming, good-looking, intelligent man who seemingly has an unending supply of money at his disposal with which to grant her every wish!’

‘Hm,’ he murmured. ‘I see your point; your sister has become a mercenary.’

‘No! Are you sure your name is Sutherland?’ She eyed him suspiciously.

This time there was definitely a twitch to the firm lips. ‘Which family trait am I lacking in?’

Well, the first she hadn’t known him long enough to judge, the second couldn’t be doubted, not when he was almost-naked not ten feet away from her, the fourth she would take on trust because of his name; it was difficult to tell a person’s wealth when their only clothing was a pair of brief swimming trunks! It was the third trait she doubted.

‘Cheryl is not a mercenary,’ she defended indignantly. ‘She’s just momentarily infatuated with this Nigel’s seeming ability to do exactly what he wants to do.’ A mercenary, in fact. She had called her sister that only this evening when Cheryl telephoned to tell her of the feelings she had for Nigel Patrick, the son of Henry Sutherland’s sister, and how she was thinking of breaking her engagement to Gary because of him.

Cheryl and Gary had been going out together for almost five years, it would break his heart if Cheryl left him now. It would break Cheryl’s, too, when she came to her senses. The best Danny had been able to do was to persuade her sister to wait a little longer before discussing it with Gary. Her sister’s ready agreement to the suggestion showed her that Cheryl wasn’t as sure about her feelings for Nigel as she pretended to be.

‘And what did you decide had to be done about them as you mowed the lawn?’

‘At this ungodly hour,’ she finished with a grin.

‘Exactly,’ Pierce drawled.

‘Well, I have two options open to me at the moment,’ she related thoughtfully. ‘I can either let it run its course—which is a bad idea. Or I can try to show Nigel in a bad light, you know two-timing Cheryl or something like that.’ She was eager to know his opinion on the latter; he must know his cousin better than she did.

‘That isn’t a good idea either.’ Pierce shook his head mockingly. ‘Nigel may be family, and consequently my opinion’s slightly biased, but if he’s seeing your sister you can be sure she’s the only woman he’s seeing; he never concentrates on more than one woman at a time.’

‘Then how about past scandals?’

‘There aren’t any.’

‘A playboy?’

‘He works at least nine hours a day, often six days a week, as the head of accounts for all Sutherland interests; that doesn’t leave him a lot of time to do anything!’

‘Bad habits?’ She was getting desperate now.

Pierce shook his head. ‘I don’t know of any.’

‘There must be something wrong with him!’ she wailed protestingly. ‘Everyone has at least one fault.’

‘I believe he used to pull little girls’ braids as a boy,’ Pierce taunted, looking pointedly at Danny’s.

‘Very funny.’ She glared at him.

‘What’s your fault?’ He raised dark brows.

‘I talk to strange men who are wearing only bathing trunks at almost twelve o’clock at night!’

For a moment there was only silence, and then he began to laugh, a rich deep sound that was well worth waiting for. ‘And mine is that I listen to the problems of the head-gardener who has a body like Raquel Welch at twelve o’clock at night!’

She quirked light auburn brows at him. ‘Would you like to rephrase that?’

‘Who has the body of Raquel Welch any time of night?’

‘Again,’ she prompted drily.

‘Who has a body like Raquel Welch any time—period?’ he said hopefully.

She gave a light tinkling laugh of enjoyment. ‘You’re learning.’

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘How long has your sister known Nigel?’

‘About a month or so; she met him down here when she came home from university for the weekend.’ Danny frowned as she once again dwelled on the problem of her sister and Nigel Patrick. ‘They’ve been meeting in London regularly since then.’

‘And her fiancé?’

‘Lives in Bedmont.’

‘Ah.’

Ah, indeed. Bedmont was the nearest town to the estate, probably about twelve miles away, but almost a hundred from London. Cheryl and Gary only saw each other alternate weekends because of the expense of travelling, the two of them supposed to be saving up to get married next summer when Cheryl finished at university.

‘The problem appears to be distance,’ Pierce agreed thoughtfully. ‘Your sister is obviously pining for male company, and Nigel is happily providing it. Could the fiancé move to London?’

In theory that might have worked—except for one thing. ‘Gary is in the local ambulance service,’ she told him despondently. ‘He can’t get an instant transfer.’

‘Hm.’ Pierce frowned.

‘Cheryl should be ashamed of herself,’ Danny said crossly.

‘Because he’s an ambulanceman, or because she’s thinking of breaking their engagement?’

‘Both!’

‘Can’t your parents talk to her? It seems to me it isn’t really your problem.’

‘When Dad retired last year he and Mum went to Cornwall; I don’t want to worry them with this.’ She shook her head, loose tendrils of hair about her face.

‘Why not, you’re worried.’ He frowned.

‘I’m the eldest …’

‘How old is that?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Twenty-one. But—–’

‘A baby,’ he derided. ‘And how old is Cheryl?’

‘Nineteen. But—–’

‘Old enough to make her own mistakes—or not, whatever the case may be,’ he dismissed arrogantly.

‘I’m a baby, but she isn’t?’ Danny mocked.

‘Touche,’ he drawled drily. ‘But I still think you should let your sister make the decision without any help from you.’

‘She always makes the wrong one and regrets it afterwards.’ Danny shook her head. ‘Look, I’m sorry I bothered you, this is really not your problem,’ she smiled openly, ‘I’m sure you want to get back to your swim, and I have to get back to my thinking.’

‘But not the lawn-mower, I hope?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Not the lawn-mower. I’m really sorry about that, I just wasn’t thinking.’

‘I thought you were thinking!’

She observed him with her head tilted to one side. ‘I think perhaps you are a Sutherland after all.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I’ll decide whether or not that’s a compliment on my walk back to the pool; you certainly don’t seem to have a very high opinion of the Sutherlands.’

Danny shook her head. ‘I like you.’

‘Thank you,’ he accepted gravely. ‘I hope you can come up with a solution to the Cheryl-Nigel affair.’

‘Oh, it isn’t an affair,’ she quickly defended. ‘At least, Cheryl assured me they aren’t sleeping together.’

‘Does any couple having an affair actually“sleep” together?’ Pierce mocked drily.

‘I wouldn’t know.’ She unconsciously revealed her own innocence, although she wouldn’t have cared if she had realised; she didn’t wear her virginity like a talisman, but neither was she ashamed of it. When the time, and the man, were right, she knew she wouldn’t give two thoughts to her virginity. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that.’ She frowned. ‘Now I’m really worried.’

‘I shouldn’t be,’ he derided. ‘Nigel doesn’t actually seduce innocents.’

‘Cheryl isn’t that innocent.’ Danny grimaced, knowing her sister and Gary had been making love for some time.

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,’ she assured Pierce. ‘I’ve been getting Cheryl out of one scrape or another all our lives.’

‘Then it’s time you had a rest from it.’

‘I will.’ She nodded. ‘Once she’s safely married to Gary.’

‘I hope you’re successful.’

Danny stood and watched him as he opened the wrought-iron gate that separated her small walled cottage from the main immediate grounds, liking the dark thickness of his hair, his wide shoulders, the play of muscles over his back, his tapered waist and narrowed hips, his legs long and muscled, his whole body deeply tanned. The lines of cynicism she had seen on his face, the thread of silver in his dark hair, had indicated that he was probably nearing his fortieth year, and yet he was as lithe as a twenty-year-old. She found herself liking the look of Pierce Sutherland very much.

Suddenly she didn’t want to let him go, running across the newly cut lawn to open her gate and follow him as he walked towards the lights of the grey-stoned manor house. ‘Hey, Pierce, I—–’

‘For God’s sake!’ His expression was fierce as he turned to see her running lightly after him. ‘Go back,’ he shouted harshly. ‘Danny, go back!’

She came to an abrupt halt, staring at him with stricken eyes. Why had he returned to his initial coldness so suddenly? Minutes ago he had …

‘Danny, go back!’ He began to run back to her as the sound of the dogs barking could be heard, all the time the sound coming closer and closer. ‘Oh God!’ he groaned as the two Alsatians bounded around the corner of the house, still barking as they ran towards them, two of the biggest of their breed Danny had ever seen. ‘Heel!’ Pierce commanded as he turned to face them, pushing Danny behind him. ‘For God’s sake heel!’ He was breathing hard in his effort to stop the howling beasts.

‘Sit, you two.’ Danny stepped in front of Pierce, the two panting dogs obediently sitting down at her feet, looking up at her with adoring eyes as she patted them affectionately on the head. She turned back to Pierce. ‘It’s all right, they won’t hurt you while you’re with me.’ She smiled at him reassuringly, concerned at how pale he was.

‘I—thought—they—might—attack—you!’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Fang and Killer?’ She laughed at the thought of them possibly hurting her.

‘I believe their names are Ferdinand and Kilpatrick.’ He stepped out from behind her, looking down in amazement at the two stupidly drooling dogs that were supposed to be trained killers, Kilpatrick even rolling over on his back now to have his stomach rubbed by one slender, playful hand.

‘Oh, they are.’ Danny nodded. ‘Such silly names for these fearsome creatures.’

‘They don’t look very fearsome at the moment.’ Pierce looked on with disgust as Ferdinand joined his brother by rolling on his back, his big feet waving ridiculously in the air.

‘Oh, you mustn’t mind them.’ Danny straightened, pulling down the ribbed halter-top as it rode up towards her breasts. ‘They know me very well.’

‘They know me, too,’ he derided. ‘But they don’t“roll over” for me!’

She frowned. ‘You seemed frightened of them a moment ago …?’

‘I told you, I thought they were going to attack you,’ he explained impatiently. ‘I had no idea they were aware of your scent.’

‘We’re old friends.’ She absently stroked the two regal heads as the dogs stood as close to her as they could get. ‘Danton introduced me to them their first day here; he thought it best in the circumstances.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely. ‘Speaking of Danton,’ his eyes narrowed as he looked about them, ‘he should have been here with his dogs by now.’

Danny shook her head. ‘He probably thinks they’re taking a run with me, we usually take one together late at night when it isn’t so hot. I just haven’t had the time tonight.’

Grey eyes were disbelieving. ‘You run Danton’s dogs for him?’

‘Of course not,’ she scorned. ‘They just run along with me when I jog five times around the wall perimeter.’

‘Good God, how far is that?’

‘About five miles, I think. Then I—–’

‘Don’t tell me any more!’ He closed his eyes. ‘What on earth do you want to half kill yourself in that way every night for?’

‘I don’t half kill myself.’ She smiled at his horror. ‘I’m keeping myself in shape—my Raquel Welch shape,’ she added teasingly.

‘Gardening doesn’t do that?’

Danny shook her head. ‘It doesn’t loosen up the muscles like jogging does.’

‘But it doesn’t kill you either!’

‘Exercise, properly supervised, doesn’t harm you at all,’ she reproved. ‘I’m sure you don’t keep your own body in that great shape by sitting about all day.’ The candidness of her gaze showed him just how good she thought that body was.

‘I swim thirty lengths of the pool daily,’ he grudgingly admitted.

‘There you are, then,’ she said smugly. ‘Actually, that’s why I came after you.’

‘Because of my great body?’ he lightly mocked.

‘I think you’re learning a little too fast now.’ She pretended irritation, the twinkle in her sherry-coloured eyes belying that emotion. ‘I wondered if I could join you in your swim.’

‘You can think in a pool, too?’

‘I’ve never tried.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t really have that in mind when I suggested the swim.’

‘Oh?’

‘My, what a suspicious mind you have, Mr Sutherland.’ Danny looked up at him reprovingly. ‘Your uncle lives in a sterilely safe world but I would have thought you had more sense. I certainly don’t have designs on that great body of yours,’ she said angrily.

He had stiffened at the mention of his reclusive uncle, but his expression lightened at the latter, until finally he smiled, albeit resignedly. ‘Go and get your bikini, Danny,’ he sighed. ‘I’d hate you to miss your daily exercise and lose that figure.’

An imp of mischief possessed her as she looked for her bathing costume, picking up one of Cheryl’s, a skimpy black article on her petite sister, even more so on her more generous curves. But Pierce’s last comment had been a little patronising, and she intended shaking him out of his arrogant complacency.

She certainly did that when she joined him, waiting until he surfaced at the side of the pool before dropping her black robe, almost giggling out loud at the widening of Pierce’s eyes as he leant his chin on his folded arms, water dripping down his face.

‘I was wrong,’ he said slowly. ‘Your body is better than Raquel Welch’s!’

She moved to the poolside with exaggeratedly provocative movements. ‘Eat your heart out, Pierce Sutherland.’ She gave him a sweetly triumphant smile. ‘I’ve already promised not to touch you.’

He watched her as she slowly entered the water by the stairs. ‘I didn’t make the same promise,’ he reminded huskily. ‘Although we would have little privacy here.’ He grimaced.

She glanced up at the brightly lit windows. The pool, another recent addition for the new owner, was built close to the back of the three-storey house. ‘Mr Sutherland isn’t back in the house, is he?’ she prompted cautiously, doubting Henry Sutherland would like the idea of his gardener cavorting about in his pool with his nephew.